When I say no one knows everything about a one. I mean every one of those words, The ones to me I call brother As well as the sisters, None know about my poetic tendencies. Despite my strength of word or fluidity in writing, My heart can't bear the weight of the words I don't want to hear, As it stands strong instead of bending to shape the opportunity of confessing the weight upon it. The writing was born from the type of emotion you don't expose to all, It pushed aside the depressive thoughts healing a part of me that made my skin crawl, Yet it was born alongside a season full of emotion, A festive time when there are often signs of motion. So I poured it out, Chucked it out, Shovelled it out, Until my boat sank.